“Yes, ordinary people. But it doesn’t matter _how_ old a genius is. Father’s awfully excited about Mr. Galbraith just now, for he’s been away a year and a half on an arctic expedition and we’re expecting him back next summer. We may be hearing from him any day after the middle of June. Father and I often talk about it when we’re alone together.” “Why don’t you talk about it when there’s anybody there?” “Oh, mother’s always so down on Mr. Galbraith.” “What’s she down on him for?” “Just because he wants to discover the North Pole.” “Well, don’t you think yourself that’s rather—” “No, I don’t.” “To be wasting two whole years in just hunting round for the Pole? What’s the good of the Pole, anyway?” Hildegarde smiled a smile of superiority. “My geography”—Bella invoked authority that even a big girl must respect—“my geography says—” “You’re too young to understand. It’s not the Pole. It’s the glory.” “What glory?” “Nobody’s ever yet got there.” “Why should anybody? Lots of nicer places.” “A great many people have tried. A good many have died trying—” “Well, that’s a good reason for not bothering about it any more.” “Oh, you’re just like—” But filial respect restrained Miss Mar. “I agree with Mr. Galbraith. He thinks there’s nothing in the world half so interesting to do.” “He _must_ be silly.” “No, he isn’t! He’s splendid—” But Hildegarde snapped the locket to, and hid it under her best handkerchiefs. The following Saturday, when Bella asked again to see the locket, Miss Mar declined to bring it out. Bella begged in vain. She discovered that her big, gentle friend could be immovable. To Hildegarde’s dismay, Bella presently dissolved in tears. “Then may I s-see the work of g-genius?” “Yes, you may look at his book all you like.” She even let Bella take it away with her to tide her over Sunday. But Mr. Galbraith’s “Winter among the Samoyedes” had small success with Miss Wayne. “They make me sick, those people! I can’t think how anybody likes hearing about their dirty ways,” and she even cast reflections on Jack for wasting his time over such “horrors.” However, there was another side to it. “What a relief it’ll be to him to be with _us_ after the Samoyedes!” “With _us_!” Hildegarde smiled inwardly. Sitting by the rose-framed window one Saturday afternoon, talking as usual about Mr. Galbraith and how soon he might be expected back from the Pole, Bella suddenly burst out: “I’m tired to death of saying ‘Miss Mar.’ I _do_ wish you’d let me call you ‘Hildegarde.’”